the other. He had pistols but they were in the car; he retreated, trying
to defend himself as they poured on him shot after shot. Those in the
other car, instead of coming up, stopped in mortal terror. The clerk,
only slightly wounded in the ear, ran to them, exclaiming, "They are
killing Lord Leitrim, they have killed me," and dropped dead with
nervous terror. The assassins had poured in all their shot, still the
Earl was not dead. He might yet have been saved if there had been any
one to help him. What must his thoughts have been in that supreme
moment. They beat the life out of him, he defending himself to the last.
They cut loose their boat, rowed across the bay, cast it adrift, took
the mountains and escaped.

The Earl fell, his head in a little pool of water. The country people
coming in to Milford town passed by with white faces on the other side;
no one lifted his head, no one looked to see if life was extinct. At
length the constabulary came, and the remains of the dreaded lord were
carried in a cart into Milford. There was a _post mortem_
examination; part of his poor remains was buried in the graveyard of the
little church which he built, and a load of the clay he refused to his
tenants brought to cover it. His name will long linger in evil fame
among the mountains and deserts.

It is but just to the memory of this man to say, that some, who with
good reason abhor his memory, do not believe that charges of gross
immorality made against him were true. Others who think themselves
equally well informed hold a contrary opinion. To think of mentioning
all I have heard of his oppressive injustice would be impossible. I was
told that when news of his death came into certain places, men clasped
hands and drank one another's health as at a festival; that pious people
thanked God for the deliverence, who abhorred the means by which it came